


Winter Wake

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [71]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Celebrations, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Snowfallen and Merrymaker Skins, Winter's Feast, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25851139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: The Winter's Feast fic that I started last year and sort of lost motivation to fully flesh out and finish.
Series: DS Extras [71]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/688443
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Winter Wake

**Author's Note:**

> The Winter's Feast fic that I started last year and sort of lost motivation to fully flesh out and finish.

"...You've got snow in your hair."

"I am well aware of that, Higgsbury."

Maxwell ducked his head, dragging more snow behind him as he passed the doorway into a much warmer, brighter environment.

Swiping away the excess frost that had covered him on the trip here, finally swinging around the heavy bag on his shoulder to thump against the ground, he raised his eyes to squint around at the winter solstice residence.

Charlie seems to have outdone herself this year.

The front chamber was small, but he could hear conversation and a crackling fire in the next room over, and lights, decorations were strewn near everywhere, stuffy warm air and the faintest smell of something cooking gracing the atmosphere.

It was so rare so see such sights in the Constant, and it made Maxwells gut twist uncomfortably.

"Oh, so you've dressed up this time?" 

Wilson had closed the door behind him, looking all too at ease to be normal, his own get up stark blues and whites compared to the rest of the colors around him. There was a thin cloud of chill that hung off him, faint steam reacting to the warmed house, and Maxwell scowled as he adjusted his own more colorful clothing, the coat more attuned for the indoors than the blizzards that sprung up outside.

"The invitation had been quite clear, unfortunately." And so too had been the wrapped up clothing that had come along with it. Whatever the Queen had in mind, Maxwell did not think it would do him well to cross her for the holidays.

He may think it a waste of time, but if the ruler of the world wished for a Winter's Feast, then she was to get one.

And, well, it was a break in the monotony. A little bit of give before back to the grind, as it was, and looking the gift horse in the mouth was asking for trouble.

"Well, it doesn't look half bad…" Wilson circled him, subtly gliding a few inches off the ground in light skips, the enchanted clothing he wore somehow making his actions aggravating, his near cheerful demeanor even more so. "Wait, are you really wearing slippers?"

"Very clear instructions, as I've said." The scowl on his face somehow deepened, but thankfully he hadn't been just given some threadbare costume and nothing else. It didn't retain heat very well, but at least the snow hadn't melted underneath him, and he wasn't sodden at all.

Just rather cold and shivery, if a bit too comfy to complain.

"It's only one night, isn't it? Do we really have to have so many lights strewn about?"

"Winona put them up, actually." Wilson twirled around, lighter on his feet than he's ever been and looking as if he was enjoying it, practically glittering like blinding snow in the light, his crazed hair more like frozen ice sculptures now. Comparingly, Maxwell felt a bit more droll in flair. "Hey, that wasn't all snow! Look at you, not balding anymore!"

The scowl had morphed into a snarl, not at all fazed by the other man's teasing air, and the state of himself in this horrid season was a sore topic.

He still felt it unprofessional to be just changing what she saw fit on her own pawns. Then again, they weren't playing a game of chess any longer; a different stage, a different set, and more attention to detail. He may greatly dislike it, but the Queen near thought of everything these days.

Including making sure everyone was either in a matching set, or near close enough. 

"I'm joking, Maxwell, I'm joking. You look…" Wilson hopped back a step, floated in the air unabashedly as he crossed his legs, looking him over critically. "Reasonable for the season, I guess. Why the monocle?"

"Don't ask me, I didn't choose it." Maxwell was still near snarling, still peeved, still getting over having to travel through thick snow to get here, cutting his venture into the ruins short, and a loud burst of laughter erupted from the next room, different voices and chatter that was already getting on his nerves. "The others are here?"

"All of us. You're the last we were waiting for."

"...Do I even want to ask what for?" Maxwell rubbed his eyes, tired, and he's hardly taken two steps into this place and he already wanted out. The walls, wooden and warm as they were, seemed near entrapping all about him, closing in.

"Try not to act too foul, Maxwell; everyone's in a fair mood, so we're celebrating the defeat of the Deerclops. The house is all well stocked for it, oddly enough." 

"What a wonderful dollhouse." Sarcasm laced in his voice, bitter and making the other mans face finally wrinkle into that usual frowny scowl, but Maxwell ignored the little satisfaction he gained from achieving even that. "Where do I put all this rubbish? Protecting it all from the snow was a pain, and I'm done hauling it around."

He had gestured to the bag at his feet, more like pigskin sack, and Wilson floated over, landed silent onto the rugged floorboards just to all too easily lift it up, peer within. If the man's face got more cheerful than it already was Maxwell felt he was going to be ill.

"Presents, from you Maxwell? Did the underground soften you up somehow?"

"It was specified to bring gifts, Higgsbury, don't get the wrong idea. If I could I'd have stuffed it with coal."

"Aw, how thoughtful of you." This time it was Wilson speaking sarcastically, poking through the lot for a moment before closing the bag and swinging it over his shoulder. "Don't feel called out or anything, everyone else brought along presents as well. Though I don't think they had to be instructed to do so in the first place."

With that he hopped into the air, right out of the entrance hall and into the rest of the house, too much cheer in his voice and face as he called to Maxwell over his shoulder.

"Come on in, scowl your grumpy way around if you want. It's big enough for us all to be comfortable." There was a cheeky grin on his face, Wilson lighting up with firelight and holiday cheer, the ice blues of his hair glittering as he practically shined, and his voice had caused the others to look up, more blues and whites, more merry making colors as the rest of the actors were called to attention. "Happy Winter's Feast, Maxwell."

With that off Wilson darted, to set the sack of presents with the rest, and Maxwell shuffled his way in, frowning all the while as all eyes gave him a glance over before they returned to their usual gossip. 

For all the warmth and stuffy comfort this dollhouse gave, the rest of the once pawns lounging comfortably and with too much ease in deep Constant winter, Maxwell felt remarkably uncomfortable.

He supposed that was to be his script, then; the Queen needed an antagonist of some sort, didn't she? 

...He couldn't remember the plays she oh so loved back then, nor had he been the most involved with such things. If there had to be a bad fellow, he must fit the bill well enough.

Maxwell scowled his way to the fireplace, arms crossed and still shivering as he made to finally warm up. 

These might be the most comfortably enchanted clothes he's ever owned, but they got dreadfully cold all too quickly.

***

"Mister Maxwell, Mister Maxwell!"

High pitched clicking, chirped screeches and odd warped child voice, and Maxwell had to brace himself for the bundle of white fur that bounded straight for him.

It had taken a moment for Webber to recognize he was here, and now he had a spider chimera looking up at him and waving all those limbs and mandibles about, deep clicks and purrs of arachnid sound.

"You're here, Mister Maxwell!" They bounced up and down, claws clinging to his coat and shining near blind white even with just the firelight. Their winter shed must have come early, and not even a speck of black or pepper bristle marred their new mane. "We're so glad you're here! They said you won't come, but we knew better!"

"It's...nice to see you, Webber."

It was mildly uncomfortable, having a spidery child be so excited at his presence, but Webber gave him a spider grin and unhooked their claws, limbs waving this way and that as their fur puffed up before they shook themself, looking too full of boundless energy to even express it properly. 

"Who said I wouldn't be here? The invitations are quite specific-"

"I did." 

The soft voice rose up, cold and still, and right behind Webber came his dear niece, hands folded together and permeating the cold air of her costumes spells. Frost decorated her done up hair, braided tight and sparkling with ice, her skin paler than usual. 

She looked quite unamused to see him.

"Niece."

"Uncle."

"Wendy!" Shrieked Webber, spider giggles as their limbs waved and they wrapped their friend in a puffy furred hug, bouncing on their feet as all their eyes opened and closed in paired sync. "See, we told you Mister Maxwell will come! No one's gonna miss Winter's Feast this year!"

Their excitement seemed to break the ice a bit on Wendy's attitude, and the girl's face softened as she glanced at her excited friend. When she looked back up at Maxwell, she actually looked a hint tired out.

"Webber has been snacking on the frosted cookies all evening."

"They're good!" Webber chirped back, high pitched and spider giggly as they clung to their friend. "Mister Wilson ate so many that he got sick, so we ate some to keep him from eating them all!" 

Wendy sighed, which made Maxwell hold his own sigh back as she pat her spidery friend on the arm.

"Perhaps you should go get a drink of water, Webber."

"Ooo, or apple cider!" All their eyes sparkled, puffed up fur rising and making them near round enough to emulate a fuzzy snowspider. "Do you want any, Mister Maxwell? Wendy?"

Before anyone could answer Webber had untangled from their friend, unspent energy making them bounce up and down, and without even hearing their answers off they shot, light footed and near leaping in blurry bounds, off to one of the tables piled high with food and drink.

For a moment, the only sounds around them were the low conversation between the other survivors, talking over holiday snacks and drinks. Maxwell could see the strongman over by the backdoor, Wolfgang talking animatedly to Wes as he towered over everyone, hulking ice and frost permeating off him like mist.

In comparison, the mime, or perhaps something else now, all those bells and chimes tied up to his clothing and not the usual colors, seemed much, much smaller than usual. The faint noise from his costume drifted over, not the usual winter wind chimes but something much...merrier.

Maxwell vaguely decided he preferred the older costume set, and not this 'new' one. Perhaps Charlie was getting a hint nostalgic this season.

"I truly had not expected to see you here."

He turned his attention back, Wendy looking up at him unblinkingly, frost bitten hands clasped together and appearing small, unassuming. 

In reality, all these spells just made her all the more dangerous.

"I wouldn't have come if it had not been mandatory." His face fell into a frown, borderline snarl at the thought that he had left his camp unprotected underground, having to hurry his way upstairs to attend this little party. The shadows down there had been rather pushy.

A thought occurred to him suddenly, raising a eyebrow down at his niece as he gave her a vaguely bored expression, as if this was forced pleasantries and not idle conversation between family.

"Where is your dear sister, Wendy? I had expected to see her at your back, not hidden away during this-" he waved a hand, pausing for effect as he found the word, "-this frivolous waste of winter time."

"The holidays are important, I've been told." Wendys voice rose and fell like north winds, the barest of inflection and scathingly icy, near judgemental, but then she tilted her head, giving him a feigned look of confusion. "And Abigail has no reason to hide. She is here, and she is watching."

The colder note ended her sentence heavy, a calling cue, and then Maxwell stiffened up as a shiver of pure chill ran up his spine, jaw grit tight as he squinted his eyes to the near paralyzing feeling, the vague impression of fog passing around, through him.

Something hung heavy in the air, thicker rolls of steam rising to the ceiling in curls, and then he caught sight of the impressions of eyes, face, arms and hands and legs, bundled wild hair, and then Abigail coalesced and swirled together into an amalgamation of transparent mist. Her low whispers overlapped, talking over each other as she leaned her nonexistent bulk forward, giving her uncle an appraising, woeful look.

"Ah." Maxwell curled his hands, fought the shivers as he set his jaw, mildly focusing as he adjusted his housecoat and tried to discreetly shudder through the leftover frost, arms crossed over his chest. "I had not known she'd leave your side, especially on a holiday."

"Abigail goes where she wishes freely. I have no say in that matter, nor do I wish to." Wendy turned her piercing gaze away, to look upon her floating ghastly sister, tilting her head as to listen. "She whispers of seeing gifts, but perhaps she saw wrong. I assumed you would bring nothing."

"You assumed wrong." Maxwell held his jaw tight, a near smirk on his face as finally the shivers subsided, having to fight them all the way through. "Something for everyone, isn't that right?"

He felt no need informing her that his invitation had essentially commanded that of him.

"How caring of you." 

Abigail hummed at her sister's side, floating and hissing whispers as she seemed to glow, the impressions of her eyes screwing up in what could possibly be happiness. Her words made Wendy go quiet, listening with a faint nod here and there, so Maxwell settled with turning his eyes elsewhere.

With the mime and strongman in one corner, he could see a few of the others by the tree. The engineer, clothed in more comfy bearing fabrics than was ever usual for her personal tastes, and the librarian, ice queen like with faint false snow winds whipping about her feet. Over by the table decked with food items was Webber on tip toe, looking about for something, and Maxwell spotted the telltale ice spires of hair over near the desserts, ducking behind the more extravagantly decorated dishes just to sneak a few more cookies away when no one was watching.

Predictably by the fireplace was the firestarter, steam and hissing melted ice falling from her fingertips as she huddled herself closer and closer to the fire, talking comfortably with a much more worried looking viking, decked out in colors and fabrics of older fashion origin. 

As for the android and lumberjack, Maxwell could spot neither of them.

A hint of louder conversation did catch his attention, however, and he blinked at the sight of the chef inching out of the door behind Wolfgang, catching the large man off guard as Wes clapped and hoped about. The three had a laugh, or a silent mock laugh in ones case, and Maxwells frown fell back on his face as he turned away.

Warly being invited for the holiday celebrations was a first. He didn't even look in costume!

A side glance showed him that Wendy was looking to the ground, ice frost coating her braided hair thicker now, still, stiff, as if in death. Her sister floated about her knowingly, whispers haunting and slow, tiny snowflakes melting in a trail that didn't even brush the ground as she circled.

The quiet between them, not at all companionable, just barely tolerant, did not seem fit to this warm atmosphere, and a vague impulse caught his thoughts as Maxwell recognized the slow crawl of a deep frown upon the girls face. 

"Webber asked me for help with your gift." 

She blinked, frost and ice falling from her eyelashes as she stiffly looked up at him, and the steam gliding up from her frosted clothing was dutifully ignored as Maxwell continued talking.

"A few seasons or so back, in fact. They were at a loss in achieving what they wished to give you."

Her eyes were as pale as ever, as empty, Abigail twisting and turning about slow, snowfall from her transparent form that didn't even touch upon the carpet. The ghost listened just as intently, he figured.

"Time was not on my side, but it is finished." Maxwell hissed in a silent breath of air, looking down at his niece. "Expect Webber to hand it off sometime tonight."

The girl tilted her head, listening as Abigail stalled in the air and whispered feverishly, transparent molten form twitching and twisting about, only the vaguest outline of small body, hands, arms, legs, feet. The plume of uncut tangled hair and wide open eyes, pale and corpselike in undeath.

"...Gift giving will be in under the hour." Wendy stated matter of factly, stiff, cold, but there was no barren emptiness stuck fast in her throat. "I...look forward to Webbers holiday present."

As stiff as a statue, as still, monotone, frozen aura hissing steam up in reaction to temperature, Wendy's mask angled, tilted, and for a moment she gave him a small, unassuming smile.

"I can barely contain myself from excitement." 

Her voice completely devoid of emotion, Wendy swing around, back to him as she suddenly raised a hand in soft greeting.

"Webber, you are back."

"Sorry we took so long, there's so many options that we couldn't figure out what we wanted!" The spider chimera trilled almost unhappily, holding a tray in their arms decked with glasses and a few plates of assorted treats. Their limbs and mandibles rose up at the sight of Maxwell, eyes brightening as they realized he was still there.

"Mister Maxwell, we got some of the frosty cookies! They kept disappearing everytime we tried to grab some, so we didn't get that many…" They held up the tray to him, offering what they had put together, Wendy by their side and watching Maxwell expectantly.

He hesitated a moment, a bit caught off guard and not particularly fond of these winter themed cookies anyhow, caught between accepting something he didn't want or taking the cold wrath that Wendy and her ghostly sister were currently threatening him with via unblinking eye contact, before his eye caught on something a little more appealing.

"How about you two enjoy the icy death themed desserts, and I take these little fellows?"

Maxwell deftly swept up two of the gingerbread men, frosting and gumdrops and all, a lot more pleased with himself and his decision making. 

"But, we weren't gonna eat those, they're our friends!"

Well, he was pleased with himself for at least a few seconds, Webbers limbs and mandibles dropping down as their eyes widened.

Before Webber really started thinking about gingerbread people being eaten, or Maxwell inevitably dug himself deeper into the metaphoric grave, Abigail hummed a long string of oozing sound, darting and swishing through the air as she got Webbers attention, Wendy quietly intervening.

"Webber, don't you like the frosted cookies more?" 

The spider child lowered down the tray, blinking their eyes in pairs as their white fur puffed up, mandibles drawn close to their face as they looked to their friend.

"Well, we do, but…" 

Their spidery face made a rather odd expression, one that not even Maxwell could identify, but Wendy seemed to know it and carefully eased the tray out of their claws, Webbers spiky limbs drooping a bit as their fur about their neck and back rose.

"We think we ate a little too much…" 

Wendy patted them on their furry shoulder, a sympathetic look gracing her features as she turned and guided them to the nearest chair. Abigail twirled in the air, amused almost, giving Maxwell only a passing vague blink and a wave of an impression of her hand before darting off after them, cooing to her sisters spider friend. 

Leaving Maxwell to stand there, holding two gingerbread men in his hands and having no desire to even eat them.

Heaving a sigh, he glanced back over to the food table and caught sight of Wilson floating over it, not trying to hide now as he stuffed at least three more of those cookies into his mouth. Drifting snowfall fell from his clothes, glittering in the firelight and melting before making contact.

Over by the tree, the chimes and a brief whip of wind snapped out as Wickerbottom adjusted her glasses and finally saw the mischief occurring over near the holiday snacks.

Wilson, of course, was not paying attention.

Maxwell set his jaw, folded his arms as he glanced idly down at the cookies he still had, their frosted gumdrop eyes staring up at him accusingly.

"And what are you looking at?" He mumbled, the urge to crush them up rising for a moment before a loud shout signalled the start of some tomfoolery.

The snowfallen scientist had one too many cookies stuffed in his mouth, and the ice crowned librarian was striding over to the table with a very stern, very determined look about her, and now the others conversations faded as their attention was drawn to the scene.

Maxwell took the moment to back over to a wall, leaning as he situated himself comfortably.

One of the gingerbread cookies he spared, pocketing it.

The other he bit the head off, chewing and not minding the taste, a first, as he watched the drama unfold.

Perhaps he shouldn't sell the holiday celebrations short, he thought, watching as Wilson darted up high near the ceiling as Wickerbottom scolded him on his lack of manners. 

If it continued on like this, perhaps he'd enjoy himself.

***

Wormwood, he's been told, was fast asleep. Winter winds have sent the plant sprite underground, buried in the back garden amongst the sleeping flowers, and thus was missing out on the holiday cheer.

Maxwell, of course, felt a spot of envy for the plant. Sleep could be hard to come by, but Wormwood was graced with a whole season of rest, as well as not having to be dressed like some doll and paraded around for a monarchs entertainment.

The Queen sure does enjoy a good play.

Slipping away unnoticed, wandering the back of this thrown together dollhouse and avoiding the others, Maxwell finally found his way outside and into the chilly air. Evening was still heavy, and it would be a very, very long night; winter solstice marked Winter's Feast, at least on whatever calendar the Queen upheld. He was not looking forward to being cooped up with the others for so long, but wandering off would be frowned upon.

And ruining her fun, like ruining any rulers entertainment, would end in his death. He'd rather avoid that for now.

He had expected mostly roses to be out here, or just thick thorn bushes, but it was almost a pleasant surprise to see other plants and even weeds sprouted about. The snow had wilted and killed off a good bit, thick on the ground and freezing down to the roots, but that did not mar the differences in leaf and vine variety.

The sprout he was looking for happened to be well away from other vying roots, nearer to some of the stone walls and protected from the winds. Higgsbury had mentioned being worried about any freezes in the nights, so Maxwell shuffled through the crumbled snow to the spread cloth draped over the wall and packed close to the ground. It looked more like a tablecloth, now that he was closer, but Wilson probably found it inside and tucked away. 

Gardening was not for the winter, and the Queen had not seen fit to set a shed of sorts anywhere nearby. He supposed that would have been too extensive for just a single night.

Crouching down, Maxwell gently lifted a fold of the cloth, snow caked on the edges. The cold was heavy right now, sinking to his bones, and for all that he was dressed in it wasn't outside winter wear. For some reason or another, he had been dressed for indoor weather.

Adjusting his monocle, Maxwell squinted at the small plant sprout that poked up from the packed earth, the snow deterred from covering it in any way. From just a glance, Wormwood did not look too badly off.

Pale and still in sleep, but Higgsbury had the right idea in using the cover. Wormwood may hibernate, but that did not mean the plant couldn't die doing so.

After a moment Maxwell let the cover back down, hesitating before packing it back tight, gloves now getting a hint damp with the snow. Standing up with a silent huff of effort, cracking his back as the chill started to really dig deep, he pondered on the plants positioning and fair luck. 

To be excused from the Constants show, a whole seasons worth, was near admirable. 

A noise broke him from his thoughts, from the front of the house it sounded like, a loud bang and sudden uproarious laughter, and Maxwell silently sighed, thinking as he looked out over the garden. Someone would notice his absence eventually, and he'd rather not have a racket bother the plant sleeping underground anytime soon. Wormwood was a naive little thing, young and friendly, with a bit of that oblivious immortal manner of comments.

Being referred to as 'soon to be fertilizer' was a compliment to the living plants mind, and Maxwell was particularly fond of such non human like thinking. Made interacting easier when an immortal compass was as skewered as that, even if in innocence.

He didn't feel entirely up to going back in, but the cold was going to worsen the longer he stayed out. And, even if he thought it was all a frivolous waste of time, there weren't many holidays in the Constant to celebrate; getting a day off, even if just to act the part in a grand play, should be appreciated.

Especially since she had given them a roof this time. Houses did not last long in this world, and seeing one like this certainly left an unspoken light feeling in the air. 

A quick glance around had Maxwell moving again, a little slower in the snow and gritting his teeth to the shivers from the cold, but another spread out cloth had caught his attention. Winter was a horridly frigid affair, and Wormwood will not be sleeping warmly, that was for sure.

This time when he uncovered the blanket, another tablecloth it seemed, it was a rose bush that lay underneath. Massive brambles and thorns curled all about, a big dark thing that spread out, and Maxwell squinted at the withered blooms, pale and dead in the winter chill.

Before he had finished folding the cloth in his arms, however, a flash of red caught his eye. Almost as if staring up at him, prim and proper and completely untouched by snow and ice and cold, was a near perfect rose.

Maxwell stared at it. For a moment he almost reached out, hand hovering over the pristine bloom, before a chill wind whipped up, snowflakes and the cold cutting through his housecoat, and with that he shivered back, tightening his coat about him and turning away. The rose watched him retreat, and Maxwell went back to where Wormwood slept, shuffling in the crumbling snow. 

Something sodden had settled in him the moment he had locked eyes upon the flower, but he ignored such thoughts, taking to spreading the tablecloth out, over the old as another protective cover. It would never be the warmest, and it may not help in the slightest, but it somehow made him feel more accomplished as he settled it down. 

Wormwood could not participate in the winter solstice play, and this was what Maxwell was willing to give as congratulations. A hopefully helpful second covering to the cold snow and freezing night ice.

When he had straightened back up, wrapping his arms about himself and fighting the shivers, frosty fog escaping his lips with each breath now, Maxwell turned about slow, ready for that splash of red that would cut the greys and blues of snow.

Nothing greeted him, only thick dark thorns and brambles. No other plants still survived in the snow; Maxwell was surrounded by rose thickets, hedges of spines and withered blooms, petals rotting on the iced ground.

Another cold wind whispered by, swirled snowflakes and carried the faintest impression of sound, and Maxwell bowed his head and shuffled out of the flower garden, closing the thorny vine entangled gate behind him with cold frozen fingers.

He's been out too long, and someone had noticed. Best be getting back to the warmth of the house, and the pawn actors that played it up inside.

He had a role to fill, though he cared not what it was.

Maxwell was still not looking forward to the festivities.

***

The fire inside near roared merrily, the hearth warmly decorated and colorful, rug spread and flickering flame lighting up the whole chamber. Seats, wood chairs and armchairs and benches, cushioned sofas even, the great laden tree off to the side, and yet out of all places to sit and wait out the night it was right in front of the fireplace that the imp has situated himself.

Maxwell frowned, still struck with leftover shivers and a nauseous cloud hanging about his mind, and folded his arms as he shuffled over.

Wortox barely gave him a glance, curled up and red fur puffed up as the fire crackled and ate up logs, long tail flicking about here and there. As the others talked, made conversation amongst themselves, the two children over near the tree and admiring the baubles, handling a few when they thought no one was looking, Maxwell scowled down at the lazing creature before him and vaguely wondered if he'd make a good red throw rug.

"You've made yourself right at home, haven't you pal?"

The imp side eyed him, whites of his eyes pale and encompassing, the vaguest imprint of goat slit pupils grey and fuzzy about the edges, and opened up his jaws to a yawn, long black tongue flicking as he took his time to answer. Idly scratching at his ear, tail coiling and sweeping about the rug, Wortox near gave the impression of a rather satisfied cat.

"Very much so, very much so." Kneading his claws into the rug, then gently petting over the colorful fabric and frayed ends, blackened lips curled to reveal too many crooked teeth, tip of his tongue poking out as Wortox gave the scowling man a cheeky grin. "Where else to go, for poor cold Wortox to lay low?"

"Might I suggest the underground?" Maxwell gave the imp a displeased look. "You were not invited here."

"Such a grump!" Wortox paused to stretch, tail flicking and curling as his hackles rose and fell, sluggish with warmth seeped into his fur, and seemed oblivious to the chill that was coming off the other man in waves. "Who's to say who gets to come and who gets to go? You?"

"Actually-"

"Oh, but I did not ask!" Rising up, the imp was near taller than Maxwell, huge curving horns increasing his height even more so, long ears flicking and pinning forward, and Wortox blinked his faint glowing eyes, tilted his head condescendingly as he wiggled his claws at the old man. "Understand, it's the warmth. I only come to bask!"

With a gurgled growl of a "Hyuk!", the imp bared his fangs as he giggled, completely pleased with himself and at ease with the world. Maxwell, on the other hand, was more than less so.

With a step forward, monocle emphasizing his scowl and jabbing a finger to the imps hairy chest, the man snarled his answer back.

" _You_ are not meant to be here." Maxwell hissed, low and dangerous, and he didn't touch Wortox but the imps ears pinned right back, flat against his head as he leaned away from pointing fingers. " _You_ have no part to play, no costume, and no script. _You_ were not cast for a role."

Maxwell was keeping quiet, snarled words whispered thin, and Wortox leaned back even farther, a half step as Maxwell took even more ground forward. His glowing eyes darted between scowling face and accusing finger, tail twitching behind him with quick, jerky movements.

"If you have no role, you were not invited onto the stage. No audience expects a nobody on set, pal." Pitch black eyes shining with unspoken threats, Maxwell took another step, watched the imp give more ground, all that red fur puffing up, hackles well and raised now. "Now get out before you doom us all."

His final words were still whisper quiet, but they hung in the air for the beat of silence between them, not yet noticed by the other merrymakers. Maxwell stared the creature in his cursed eyes, scowl set, and for a moment venting his own displeasure out on the nearby cold imp was feeling a hint bit rewarding.

But it was a fleeting thing.

Wortox's jaw split open, a grin as his black lips peeled back to show more grey gums, snaggled teeth pointing every which way, and the imp leaned further back, tail suddenly coiling underneath him and hoisting him up, almost like a metal spring as the imp clapped his hands to his drawn up knees and let out even more full bellied "Hyuk!"s. With inhuman speed, elegance, and limitless confidence Wortox spun around the older man, tail coiling and slithering as he hopped about, showing off as, this time, he suddenly leaned heavy and charming into Maxwells face.

"Ah, I see, I see! A part to play, to earn a stay!" Wortox moved each time Maxwell tried to look him in the eye, easily keeping up pace and making the man have to shuffle uncertainly about as he tried to catch up. "And such a tiny part you have, old man! To be the grump, too bad, so sad!"

The imp finally stopped, balanced back on his tail as the fireplace crackled and hummed, cheer on his face as Maxwell tried to keep steady as all the spinning caught up to him.

"Ol' Wortox, so cold! Tossed out in snow, so told! Oh, but...what was that?" 

Wortox raised a clawed hand to one ear, turning his head as his long ear rose, eyes darting about as he made a show of listening. His spinning about might have been a bit much; Maxwell had steadied himself, but the old man was a hint queasy now.

"What is that I must hear? What truly was that, my darling dear?"

In one smooth move Wortox leapt forward, tail coiling about the older mans legs and tripping him up into falling against the imps furry shoulder, his claws brushing faintly about Maxwell's shoulder as Wortox gestured vaguely out with his free hand, crooked grin still plastered over his face.

"Oh, wise words indeed, listen to that cheer! For what am I but ever helpful impling, pain in the rear!"

Maxwell was a hint turned around, unprepared for word play and the completely effortless way Wortox handled him, unperturbed and even, certainly, having too much fun. The old man was still a bit dizzy, and now that super heated fur was pressed up in a near one armed hug, weight held up by the creature, and those buzzing numb claws radiating white heat void were a bit awfully close-

Tail twining about the old man's legs, loose and then suddenly tensing, Wortox neatly tripped up the man to be near in the imps arms, tip of his black tongue hanging out as he dipped his head, sulfur breath exhaled against wrinkled skin and clawed palms almost too close, way too close for mortal comfort.

"Now, grumpy actor, play fair! All this practice, all this flair…" Wortox leaned close, his voice slipping low, near guttural for a foul moment. The buzzing dead curse air about his palms brushed faintly over that thin winter coat, teasingly almost, and perhaps there was a bit of hissing drool of such a tainted soul being held so close, just a tad bit of temptation. "My fair lady, she asked of me so little, gave so much! 'All work and no play cuts a puppets strings', she tells me. 'How droll', I says back."

So quiet was their interaction, so buzzing static of imp magic, misdirection was all it took, and no uninvited eyes so much as glanced over as Wortox continued his sermon.

"So out I play, and right in to a warm house and even warmer friends! What an evening, ol' Wortox, lucky bastard! But oh, what's this? Interrupted in his fun, by none other than grump extraordinaire? No worries, Wortox has such all long mastered!"

That long krampi tongue slithered out, flicking drool, sharp and threatening, and the beat of a withered corrupt soul was almost too highly tempting, the imp hissing low and unsteady as his words slurred ever so slightly.

"Words, words, they say so much, speak so little. What does it take to make a point, hmm?"

Maxwell stiffened up as there was the press of cursed palms, numb bolts arcing up his back, and the demon before him grinned crookedly, tongue hanging from his mouth and having near too much fun, hot sulfur breath as that krampi tongue whipped about, flicked the tip of his crooked nose.

"We don't want to lose the star of the show, do we now?"

Wortox waited patiently for that little nod, knowing it was to come, and just like that he sprung away from the scene, untangled and bouncing back to hop by the fire, tail coiling and curling as he smiled, ears up and fur puffed up, warmed and energized.

"Such fun we have, friends and pals as we! So good to find how well we take to make such and agree!"

Maxwell wobbled, unsteady on his own two feet and looking far more pale than usual. Firelight crackled and flickered as before, no more static fog, and before he knew it Maxwell found himself firmly eased into a chair, wooden and rocking slightly, red fur and flicking tufted tail lazily sweeping up and around, all about his dizzy watery vision.

"Now, grumpy as a long sung script is, one must remember!"

The imp smiled, easy and smooth, not seeming to acknowledge the shakiness of the old man he had oh so helpfully seated down, and instead gave some helpful advice as bargaining truce.

"All it takes is one little pinch, one little itch; my fair friend, what to do if ol' Wortox made such a big goof? Exit stage left, pursed by bear, of course! Why ask, silly man!"

Wortox stood back up, tall and glowing red, furry curling tail coiling this way and that, and he clicked his claws together, long ears twitching as he smiled warmly.

"Now, back to bed I must! And rest for you, I trust, I trust."

With that Wortox returned to the fire, back to curling up on the rug like an overgrown cat and letting the heat bathe him, inside and out, through and through.

Maxwell stayed seated, still trying to catch his breath, and ultimately decided to not mess with Wortox for the rest of this winter's solstice.

Or perhaps not ever, really.

***

It was just after sunset when there came a knocking on the front door.

First a few little taps, light and hesitant, before the knocker became more confident and the sound was made in a regular, chaotic fashion. 

For a moment, all conversation hushed.

And then Higgsbury, closest to the entrance, took it upon himself to creak the door open, inch by inch as he poked his head out.

"Oh, hello Wurt."

There was a gargled bubbling sound, whistled and chirped and coughed out, and then the man hopped back as he opened up the door, feet a few inches off the ground as he welcomed in the new guest.

Maxwell glanced over, squinted as the arrival toddled her way in with unsteady, wobbly steps, shaking off the snow as she left the hall into the more open chambers of the household. Inside a true dollhouse now, with all these lights and festive decorations, and Wurts more monstrous traits seemed to show through more starkly.

" 'ello!" She gurgled, and the lights must hurt her eyes as she squinted, bulging whites covered by slimy layered eyelids. "Wurt told to come to scale-less home, say hi!"

Wilson opened his mouth to speak, probably to ask questions, but then Wurts eyes suddenly got very round, toothy jaw dropping open as she raised her clawed fins and garbled fishy noises in excitement.

"Weenowna! Wicker-lady! You so pretty!" 

The merm left Wilson behind, rushing over to her more favored 'scale-less' in big tripping leaps, and Winona caught her as her claws skidded on the wooden flooring. Wurt burbled, gills flaring and fins extended as she whistled watery sounds and croaked her joy, clinging to her friend.

"Nice hat!" She sputtered, waving one clawed fin, crooked smile etching over her scaly face. "Pretty cloak! Warm friend Weenowna!"

"Hey, it's good to see you too kiddo." Winona smiled, helped set the merm down on her feet as she regained her balance. "What's brought you out of the swamp to all the way out here?"

"Told to!" Wurt was cheerful, blinking all her layered eyelids as she wobbled, squinting once more as the blinding light got to her senses. "By pretty night lady. So Wurt come visit!"

That sent a moment of silence through the party, Winona glancing over to the old woman she had been talking to earlier with a worried expression, but before Wurts confusion at the quiet could truly set in Wickerbottom spoke up. 

"Well, it's quite nice to see you, dear." She stood forward, the ice and crystal of her own costume shiny in the firelight, the soft chiming of ice glass with her every step. "The holidays always require the most company."

Her presence made Wurts eyes shine again, looking to the frost and cold that steamed up from the warmth of the house itself, and with that the merm near almost leapt on her, a hug as she gargled and bubbled up frothy noise, slimy and warbling as her words caught up with her.

"Wicker-lady! Wurt happy to see you too!" She exhaled a wet, sloshy noise, gills flaring open and closed and near overwhelmed with excitement, gargling in the back of her throat all the while. "All pretty! Cold and icy, like swamp home!"

The old woman looked a hint conflicted at being compared to the swamp of all things, but Wurts happiness was catching and she gave her a soft smile at the compliment that it was, giving the small merm a hug back, soft chimes and the faint sounds of icy winds rising like a cloud of barely there noise about her. The enchantments seemed to make Wurt feel more comfortable, and the merm giggled gargled noises of near coughing, crooked jaws splitting into a wide smile.

Maxwell watched on, arms crossed over his chest as they got to talking, Wurts excitement only amplifying as Webber caught notice of her. Wendy held back, her sister coiling and ghosting behind her, but once Webber got thought the usual shrieking, monstrous chirping greetings, accompanied by much hopping and tripping about each other in a mini game of tag that ended when Wurt tripped on the carpet and both children going down with giggling fits the girl wandered her way over with silent steps, a cold breeze and her own frosted steam reaction to the house getting the smaller merms attention. 

Abigail glowed, whispered thin in greeting, and then Webber went about showing off their winter furs and scarf, Wurt just as awestruck as before with the frost coating Wendy's braided hair.

As the children talked and the adults conversed amongst themselves, Winona's face dropped into an uncharacteristic frown as she spoke quietly to Wickerbottom, Maxwell hissed a sigh before shuffling his way over to where Wilson was still floating at the entrance.

If he had perhaps smirked earlier at the look of dejection the man had gotten the instant Wurt had dismissed him he'd not be the one to admit it.

And, honestly, the man still looked a bit betrayed.

"Practically everyone in this horrid place has arrived now." Maxwell sidled up to the short man's side, ignoring the few inches or so Wilson was hovering, frost touching the air in his presence and the near constant hissing of steam off his clothes. "I wonder if she'll just let anyone go as they please every holiday."

"...If that was the case, this place would be a bit too small." The lopsided scowl on Wilson's face was a bit saddened, but after a moment of watching the children as Abigail swirled around and around Wurt, making her giggle wet coughs of fishy sound, he heaved a sigh and seemed to get over it. "But, the more the merrier, as they say."

"Misery loves company." Maxwell grumbled back.


End file.
